


Be_Compromised Promptathon 2014 Roundup

by SneakyHufflepuff



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Stealth Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyHufflepuff/pseuds/SneakyHufflepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unbeta'd fics of varying length and quality.</p><p>Chapter 1: JARVIS is a total shipper and tries to get Clint and Natasha together.</p><p>Chapter 2: Stranded in the middle of nowhere in Australia, Clint and Nat face terrifying things like emus.</p><p>Chapter 3: Clint is a hapless grunt worker that stumbles onto some big mafia shenanigans. Natasha is the CIA agent tasked with keeping him safe as a result.</p><p>Chapter 4: A zombie film is viewed at Avengers film night. Discussion turns to what to do in the event of a zombie apocalypse.</p><p>Chapter 5: Clint and Natasha have to go undercover at a theme park as heroes Hawkeye and Black Widow from The Avengers. People tell Clint he makes a pretty good Hawkeye, but Natasha keeps getting told she really looks nothing like Black Widow.</p><p>Chapter 6: Clint's not quite sure how it happened, but one day he wakes up and they're living together.</p><p>Chapter 7: Notting Hill AU</p><p>Chapter 8: College professors AU</p><p>Chapter 9: Fake!engagement. Natasha and Clint go undercover as a soon to be married couple to catch a criminal using a wedding planning business as a front.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shipper Jarvis

Jarvis’s dry voice came over the intercom in the kitchen as Natasha flicked through her copy of Vogue.

“Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Barton has requested your presence on the balcony to your rooms.” 

“Thanks, Jarvis,” Natasha said.

It was odd of Clint to use the A.I. as a messenger, instead of coming himself, but she had learned long ago to never underestimate his laziness.

She padded to the balcony, still dressed in yoga pants and a singlet from her morning workout. Clint was waiting for her, shirtless in purple pajama pants. He was sitting at the cast iron table, half-asleep with a coffee mug in his hands. 

“What was so important?” he asked, yawning.

The door clicked as it locked behind her.

“Jarvis said you wanted to see me,” Natasha replied.

She looked up suspiciously at the balcony camera. Either someone had hacked into the A.I., or it was malfunctioning.

“I apologize for the deception, but I believe you need to talk. I will not open the door until you do so,” Jarvis told them.

Natasha grit her teeth. Come to Avengers Tower, Stark had said. You will be safe there, he said. I even have a robot butler, he said. She knew she should have gotten her own apartment.

“You know we can both scale the building,” Clint told the A.I.

He didn’t appear at all irritated, but that might have been because he hadn’t woken up yet.

“I wouldn’t advise it. We have security measures in place,” Jarvis replied pleasantly.

Natasha was getting flashbacks to watching _2001: A Space Odyssey_. 

“Look, is this about the peanut butter? We fight about stuff like that all the time. It doesn’t mean anything,” Clint said, voice still thick from sleep.

“No, Mr. Barton, this isn’t about the peanut butter. Although Ms. Romanoff was right, you should have offered to dry clean her blouse.”

Clint shrugged and went back to drinking his coffee.

“Don’t try to get on my good side, Jarvis. I have tickets to a matinee of Book of Mormon. Do you know how hard it is to get tickets to Book of Mormon?” Natasha demanded.

Jarvis didn’t respond.

“Who are you going with?” Clint asked.

Natasha looked at him in surprise. Surely he wasn’t going along with the A.I.’s schemes?

She considered it for a moment. Better just to play along. If they got this over with soon, she could still shower and change before she needed to leave for the musical.

“I’m going with Steve. I’m trying to introduce him to twenty-first century culture that isn’t eighties rock bands and cowboy movies.”

Why did Clint care? It wasn’t like he had agreed to go with her the second time she had invited him to the ballet, or the first time she had invited him to go to the opera. It was no wonder she’d stopped asking.

“Eighties rock bands and cowboy movies are more relevant than theatre,” Clint said, obviously stung. “You’re not teaching him twenty-first century culture, you’re teaching him how to be a twenty-first century snob.”

Natasha crossed her arms, and looked into the balcony camera.

“Great. We’ve talked. Can I go now?” she asked the no-doubt watching A.I.

She received no response, and the door stayed locked.

“Look, Tash, I’m sorry. I need another mug of coffee before I’m human,” Clint said.

He inspected his mug, looking for any dregs that might remain.

“It’s fine Clint, I already knew you don’t like theatre. Or the ballet, or the opera.”

He held the mug upside down, and not a drop of coffee fell out. Clint set the mug down and got up from the table to stand close to her. His body blocked the camera from her view.

“Tash,” Clint started. “Going to the ballet with you is intimidating. You know all the names of the dances, and you make comments under your breath about form imperfections that I don’t even understand, let alone see. Sorry if I prefer spending my downtime relaxing in front of a television screen.”

“See? That’s why I didn’t invite you to Book of Mormon,” Natasha said.

“It still would have been nice if you’d asked,” Clint said.

“Fine. Next time I will.”

They stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“We could see a different play, if you don’t critique the actors while we watch,” Clint offered.

“What do you want to see?” Natasha asked.

“There’s a Shakespeare play somewhere in this city, right? That’s old. We should see that.”

Natasha laughed, but stopped when Clint flinched, hurt.

“I’d love to see a play with you. You know Shakespeare was the television of his time? If you listen close enough, there are a lot of dick jokes.”

“Is that your way of saying that you’ll think I’ll like it?” Clint asked, mock offense covering suspicion.

“You don’t have to like Shakespeare. We can like different things,” Natasha said, looking down at her hands.

Maybe she had been a bit of a snob, but she wanted to go out and see the world, not stay at home and watch television. Sometimes she was afraid if she spent too much time with Clint she’d never do anything but work and hang out.

“Does Wednesday work for you?” he asked, hesitantly.

“It’s a date,” she replied.

She was rewarded with a grin. Clint took her hands, and ran his finger over her palm. She swallowed, trying to control the sudden surge of heat that the simple movement sent through her body. 

She had almost forgotten about Jarvis when the door to the Tower clicked unlocked behind them.

“Again, I apologize,” Jarvis said. “Ms. Romanoff, I’ve taken the liberty of informed Mr. Rogers that you gifted your ticket to Mr. Wilson. They have already left for the show. You are booked for the off-off Broadway showing of Much Ado About Nothing tonight.”

Natasha moved so she could glare at the camera again. 

“I’m not going to forget you meddling, Jarvis,” she said.

“Of course not, Ms. Romanoff,” Jarvis replied.

His voice was as pleasant as ever, but she detected a hint of smugness nonetheless.


	2. I didn't sign up for this (Australia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha are stranded in the middle of nowhere in Australia. Early partnership fic.

Clint sat on the trunk of the now useless car, watching two kangaroos box. It seemed more like a slap fight to Clint, but who was he to argue with the tourist brochure he had picked up at the airport? 

The bigger one was just a touch too slow, and the smaller one landed a solid kick in its midsection. The bigger one ran away, conceding the fight.

Clint raised his water bottle in salute. Score one for the little guy.

Natasha stalked towards him from the only hill in the area, map clenched in one hand, satellite phone in the other.

“SHIELD isn’t coming for another six hours. We’re on our own until then,” she told him.

She was already drenched in sweat. The Australian summer sun beat down on both of them, turning the air slightly orange. Clint considered ordering her to fan him, as he was the senior agent, but decided he liked his spleen on the inside of his body.

“Six hours in a desert. What could go wrong?” he said.

“It’s not a desert. There’s grass, and even trees,” Natasha replied.

The trees she pointed to looked more like glorified bushes.

“Everything is yellow, and there isn’t a town in a day’s walking distance. It’s a fucking desert,” Clint said firmly.

“I’m heading to the trees, to find some shade,” Natasha said. “You’re welcome to come with me.”

She stomped away. Clint could already feel himself bake in the heat coming off the road and the car’s surface. He followed, reluctantly.

Natasha reached the handful of glorified bushes long before Clint. One of the branches began to move, until it was clear he was looking at a brown snake.

“Natasha,” Clint called, attempting to keep his voice calm. “You need to move towards me.”

She crossed her arms and stayed put.

“Last time I took directions from you, I ended up stranded in the middle of nowhere,” she replied.

She froze as she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.

“That’s a snake, isn’t it?” she asked Clint, with the same false calm he was currently feeling.

Clint nodded. 

“Probably venomous,” she added. 

Again, Clint nodded. The tourist literature was again coming in handy. According to the brochure, almost every animal in the area was venomous, bar the kangaroos. He wondered if Fury would be mad if Clint let his new favorite spy get eaten by a snake.

She moved towards him, and the snake made no move to attach her. 

Clint let out a breath of relief, until he looked down. A snake was coiling around his boot.

Natasha saw the second snake at the same time and stopped, halfway between the bushes and where he was standing.

“Let’s never come back to Australia,” Clint said.

“Agreed,” Natasha replied. “I did not sign up for this shit.”


	3. Hapless Grunt Worker Clint, CIA Agent Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is a hapless grunt worker that stumbles onto some big mafia shenanigans. Natasha is the CIA agent tasked with keeping him safe as a result.

"He's evaded ten of my agents. He doesn't trust cops," The FBI Suit said.

He was shifting nervously in front of her. Natasha let just a tinge of disdain cross her features. Hill had already told her she had to take the case, in the interest of interagency cooperation, but the Suit didn't know that.

"Why should I care?" Natasha asked.

"He'd be a challenge, at least," the Suit said.

Natasha reviewed the folder in front of her.

"He really rode a horse to get away from his last set of bodyguards? I thought you said he was a civilian."

"He is. Just a tricky one," the Suit explained.

She let the Suit sweat a little bit, as she leafed over the folder again. 

She supposed it would be nice to take a break from guarding slimy diplomats that didn't deserve her protection.

"Fine. I'll take the case," she said.

"Thank you, Agent Romanoff."

"No problem, Agent McSweeten."


	4. Zombie Apocalypse Planning 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A zombie film is viewed at Avengers film night. Discussion turns to what to do in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Clint and Natasha will be prepared.

The title credits to World War Z began to play, meaning that the no-talking-during-movies-rule had expired.

Tony, predictably, was the first to talk.

“That wasn’t as bad as people said it was going to be,” he said. 

He turned to Bruce, then grinned.

“Can you imagine zombie Hulk?” he asked. “That would be amazing.”

Bruce looked nauseous at the thought. 

Clint and Natasha shared a horrified look, and shuddered, simultaneously.

“What would we do in the face of zombie invasion?” Steve asked. “One bite, and it’s all over.”

Clint and Natasha exchanged another look, this time smirking.

“The assassins over there have a plan, don’t they?” Tony asked, throwing a cushion that whizzed past Clint’s ear.

“Maybe,” Natasha said.

Clint snorted. “Of course we do. Send you and Rhodey out to deal with it.”

“That’s not much of a plan.” Tony pouted.

“It’s not the only part of their plan, it’s just the part they’re willing to tell you,” Bruce said, ever perceptive. 

He paused, thinking.

“In the event of zombie apocalypse they plan to kill me to prevent zombie Hulk from ever happening. I bet Natasha has already thought of three different ways to kill me quickly enough to not activate the Hulk.” 

Natasha maintained a poker face while Clint shrugged. They both liked Bruce, but in a zombie invasion he was uniquely vulnerable, and uniquely dangerous.

Steve got into the game. “Then you send Tony and Rhodey out to stem the flow. You probably steal one of his helicopters and leave New England. You wait out the zombie apocalypse in an isolated safe house somewhere.”

There was silence, as Clint and Natasha neither confirmed nor denied their teammate’s guesses.

“You forgot the part where we’re drinking champagne,” Natasha told them, voice calm.

Clint winked at Steve.

“Play your cards right, and you can come along.”


	5. Undercover at a Theme Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha have to go undercover at a theme park as costumed characters – heroes Hawkeye and Black Widow from The Avengers. People tell Clint he makes a pretty good Hawkeye, but Natasha keeps getting told she really looks nothing like Black Widow.

Natasha adjusted her belt, for the hundredth time. It felt weird wearing it with nothing dangerous attached. It was a shame Maria had refused her request to switch out her fake gadgets for the real deal.

Clint, on the other hand, seemed to love his garish purple outfit. He posed shamelessly in front of an eight year old girl with a bow.

“Do you know Katniss?” the eight year old asked.

Clint’s smile dimmed. “No sweetie, Katniss doesn’t belong to Disney.”

Natasha held her face in one hand. They were never going to be able to search the park properly if Clint was fired on the first day.

“You make a great Hawkeye,” the girl’s mother said, giggling.

Natasha restrained the urge to glare.

“Thanks, ma’am,” Clint replied, all carnie charm.

“Why, you could practically be an action figure, come to life,” the mom said, eyeing Clint predatorily. 

The little girl looked between her mom and Clint, thoroughly bored. Natasha made a small coughing sound. Clint looked at her, and she tilted her head at the kid.

Clint bent down to talk to her face to face. “I can teach you how to shoot your bow properly.”

“Awesome!” the kid said, bouncing back from her boredom instantly.

The mother watched her child fondly, and sidled over to Natasha.

“You look like you’d make a better Cinderella than a Black Widow,” the mother whispered to Natasha. “She should be more Russian. And it’s obvious your hair is a wig. What is the park’s costume department doing? I used to be a theatre major, you know.”

Natasha nodded politely as the woman prattled on. She resolved to find the agent who had dropped a USB drive in the middle of DisneyWorld and hack into SHIELD to give them extra sparring sessions. 

The little girl drew her toy bow to Clint’s satisfaction.

“Great job!” Clint exclaimed.

The mother joined them, cooing.

Natasha mentally added three more sparring sessions to the mysterious agent’s calendar. With Melinda May.


	6. Accidentally Living Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's not quite sure how it happened, but one day he wakes up and they're living together.

Clint walked across the living room, started his morning pot of coffee, and turned on Natasha's electric kettle for her morning cup of tea. He was walking back to the bedroom when he noticed something was different. Three boxes were piled against the wall, and there was a painting hanging on a wall that had previously held no painting. He moved closer to it, blinking sleep from his eyes. It was a classy watercolor; one that Clint dimly remembered seeing at Natasha’s apartment.

He headed back to his bedroom, perplexed. Natasha was lying on the bed with her eyes closed, sprawled so she took up the warm space he had just vacated.

“Tasha,” he called.

“Mmmmm,” she answered.

"I need to ask you about something," he said.

She opened her eyes and sat up, the sheets falling from her naked form.

Clint sucked in a breath. What was he going to ask her again? He closed his eyes. Right, the watercolor.

“Why is your watercolor on my wall?” he asked, and opened his eyes again.

Natasha looked like a goddess in the morning light, one that could dispense either divine retribution or blessing. He felt like an unkempt slob in comparison. 

“Oh, that. My landlord kicked me out because of Liho. I figured I’d store my stuff here until I find a new place,” she said.

“All of your stuff is three boxes and a watercolor?” Clint asked.

“The rest of my stuff was already here.” She shrugged, drawing his eyes to her chest.

“Oh,” Clint said, walking towards the bed.

She speeded his journey by pulling him forward, until he fell on top of her.

“Too much talking,” she declared, and kissed him until all thoughts of watercolors and boxes disappeared.

It wasn’t until he woke up, much later, that he realized Natasha had practically been living with him for the last several months. The boxes just made it official. He should probably ask her for rent at some point.


	7. Notting Hill AU

The chime at the shop entrance rung just as Clint started drinking his second pot of coffee for the day. He hurried out to the front room to see a woman with curly red hair disappear into the third row of bookshelves.

He moved quickly to where she’d disappeared, the section on military history. The woman wore large sunglasses, and appeared to be wandering through the aisle without seriously browsing. He didn't judge. He had come into work with a hangover a time or twelve; he didn’t hold his customers to a higher standard.

“Hi, I’m Clint. Can I help you today?” he said, making sure to keep his voice low.

If she told him to go, he would, but he couldn’t take the chance that she wasn’t a serious customer.

The woman turned lightly to look at him, and Clint struggled not to gawp when he saw how beautiful she was. 

“Do you have Harry Potter?” she asked, voice surprisingly husky.

Clint sighed in disappointment. Why did everyone always ask him that? The sign above his door read ‘Hawkeye’s History Books – Specialty Books Only’. Was he really going to have to add ‘No Harry Potter!’?

“We’re a history bookshop,” he explained. “We just sell history books.”

The woman laughed at him, and he tried not to feel self-conscious.

“Just history books? How do you make money doing that?” she asked.

“There are plenty of universities nearby,” he explained, not mentioning that his landlord was very understanding about rent.

“No popular fiction, or anything?” she probed. “Not even a used book section?”

“No, but I can direct you to stores nearby that do have those,” he offered. 

He needed to set up a referral deal with the used bookstore down the road, he mused. At least a third of their customers had to come from him.

“No, I like it here. I think I’ll look around,” she said.

She hadn’t seemed that interested in the military history section.

“Can I make a suggestion?” he asked.

The woman pushed up her sunglasses, revealing deep blue eyes that weren't at all bloodshot.

“A suggestion?” she repeated back at him, full lips quirked in amusement.

“Yes. I have a talent, I can always tell what book a customer wants.”

That was less impressive than it sounded, given that his clientele mostly consisted of university professors with a horror of online shopping.

The woman laughed at him. Again! He thought about going into the back room until she left, but there was something intriguing about her. It was almost like his subconscious was trying to tell him something.

“Sure,” she said. “Show me what you’ve got.”

He tried not to read too much into her words as he examined her closely. Her clothes were well made, designer and tailored for her, but not showy. Someone like that cared about clothes. 

“Follow me,” he said, heading for the fashion through the ages aisle. It was one of the few aisles where “regular” people enjoyed browsing.

He watched his customer as they entered the aisle, and saw disappointment flickering over her face.

“Not here then,” he said.

“Looks like you don’t have that much of a talent,” she responded, as an eyebrow rose in skepticism.

“I haven’t picked you out a book yet,” he pointed out.

“Okay, but this is strike one,” she said, a slight teasing edge to her tone.

He thought of a book that his ex-wife had loved, and that he’d sold to countless people looking for gifts. He took her to the miscellanea row, and stopped in front of the famous animals section. 

Again, she raised her eyebrow skeptically.

“Strike two,” she said.

A smile lit up her face, and the radical difference between when she’d walked into the store and now made Clint stop in surprise. She had been radiating misery when she’d first come in. How had he not seen it?

“Okay,” he said. “Let me think.”

“This is your last chance.” Her voice was equally teasing and challenging, and Clint wanted to meet the challenge.

Nothing about her appearance gave him a clue, so he went with his instincts and led her back to the military history aisle.

“Strike three,” she said, clearly disappointed.

“Ye of little faith,” he responded.

Clint walked along the rows until he found the book he was looking for and pulled it from the shelves.

“Red Sky, Black Death: A Soviet Woman Pilot’s Memoir of the Eastern Front,” she read from the cover, before looking up at him, face unreadable. “Women flew in World War II?” 

“Yes. I have three different books on the subject if you’re interested,” he said, hoping that he had succeeded.

She smiled, and he was once again left breathless from the way her face lit up.

“No, I think I just take this one. How did you know this is something I’d want?” she asked.

“I didn’t. I guessed,” he admitted. “I thought a woman like you would appreciate another woman fighting against the odds, and a story of triumph that doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“Is that a line you give all your customers?” she asked, playful.

“No, I usually get them with the dresses or the cute animals,” he responded.

She took a step closer to him, and Clint couldn’t help but weigh the ethics of asking her out before she left.

The bell above the door chimed, again. It was turning into a relatively busy morning.

“I should probably talk to this customer,” he told the woman, regretfully. “Did you want more time to browse?”

The woman’s reply was interrupted by a man calling out.

“Natasha? Are you in here? C’mon love, let us get a photo.”

Clint eyes widened as realized what his subconscious had been trying to tell him all along.

“You’re Natasha Romanoff,” he whispered.

Her smile faded and he put a finger to his lips, eyes pleading.

“Is there a back exit?” she whispered.

Clint nodded, and motioned for her to follow him. The door chimed again, as someone else entered the shop.

“Are you sure you saw her go in here?” one man’s voice said.

“It was somewhere in this row of tourist bullshit shops,” another man replied, from close by.

Clint was halfway between indignation and anxiety. He could hear the man’s footsteps getting closer. He waved at Natasha to get her attention, and pointed to where the back room was. 

The man’s footsteps sounded ever closer. Clint took a deep breath and rounded the corner. The man on the other side, a tall gangly man with bad skin, jumped at his appearance. Clint was careful not to smile in satisfaction.

“Can I help you?” Clint asked, every inch the professional shop owner. 

He nodded to the man's camera.

“Something on the history of photography, perhaps?”

“Have you seen Natasha Romanoff?” the tall man asked, not even bothering with the pleasantries.

“Is this a joke?” Clint asked, affecting the attitude of the kind of snob that many people thought ran his sort of shop. “It’s hard enough running a bookstore in the twenty-first century without practical jokes.”

The tall man rolled his eyes at Clint, and didn't even bother to give a response.

“Let’s check out the coffee shop. Maybe we can get a photo that makes her look fat," the tall man called at his partner.

“Or pregnant,” his partner called back.

They left, and Clint breathed a sigh of relief, before heading to the back room. His coffee sat on the table, no doubt ice-cold by now, Clint thought with a frown. Natasha was nowhere to be found, but there was a fifty dollar bill and a piece of paper on the table where there hadn’t been before.

Clint pocketed the bill, and read the note.

_Thanks for the book – NR_

The keys at his belt jingled as he reluctantly poured out his pot of coffee down the sink. He froze, mid pour. How had Natasha Romanoff gotten through a locked door to which he had the only key? He moved to the door and checked the lock, noting the tiny gashes of silver peeking through the rust. It was his turn to laugh. A world famous actress had bough a book at his shop and picked the lock on her way out. That certainly didn’t happen every day.


	8. College Professors AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5 times an undergrad found out Professors Barton and Romanoff were married to each other

1.

“Professor you’d be most likely to bang. Go:”

“Stark. Definitely Stark.”

“Really?”

“What? He’s rich and he’s hot. Who would you choose?”

“Barton. Have you seen him at the gym?”

“Romanoff would actually kill you.”

“Why?”

“They’re married.”

“Really? Not Barton then. Romanoff probably knows Russian assassination methods.”

“Yeah.”

“How do you think someone so mean ended up with someone so nice?”

“Hey, Romanoff is a great teacher. You just have to work hard for her to like you.”

“Who comes to college to work hard?”

 

2.

“They’re married? What?”

“I thought that Barton was secretly love with her, but she was ignoring him.”

“I just thought they were sleeping together.”

“Me too.”

 

3.

“Did you know Professor Barton is married to Professor Romanoff?”

“No way. She’s like twice as attractive as he is.”

“I wonder if she’d be up for a break from married life. We are in the prime of our lives, after all.”

“I doubt it.”

 

4.

“What’s Romanoff’s necklace for? She never takes it off.”

“It’s her engagement present.”

“She’s married?”

“To Barton. I was bartending a faculty dinner, and Thor got drunk and told me about their epic love.”

“His name is Donald Blake. I refuse to nickname him after a Norse God.”

“But have you seen his arms?”

“He does have great arms.”

 

5.

“Professor Barton! Can we talk?”

“Sure, come in. What’s the matter?”

“I’m thinking of switching my major from Russian to History.”

“Okay.”

“But I don’t know how to tell my advisor. She’s really demanding.”

“Hmmmm. Is your advisor Professor Romanoff?”

“Yes. She’s terrifying.”

“She’s also my wife.”

“Oh.”

...

“Yeah. I’ll just go.”

“See you in class on Wednesday.”


	9. Fake!Engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Clint go undercover as a soon to be married couple to catch a criminal using a wedding planning business as a front.

“Scamming newlyweds? Who does that?” Clint asked, aghast.

Natasha looked at him fondly. He had seen just as much of the world’s ugliness as she had (albeit over a longer period of time), but he had still managed to retain some measure of idealism.

“Technically they’re not newlyweds. Their weddings don’t actually happen. They show up on the day and there’s nothing there,” Maria pointed out. 

“Why is SHIELD handling this?” Natasha asked, allowing her boredom to seep into her voice. “Seems like a job for the FBI, given they’ve crossed state lines.”

Maria pointed a remote at the screen in front of them. It flicked to show a picture of a snubnosed woman with long blonde hair.

“Kristen Halverson Watson, the head of Fantasy Weddings. Yes, those Halversons. Her grandfather is Attorney General Halverson, so the FBI has courageously kicked the case up to us.”

Natasha groaned. This did not count as a step towards balancing her ledger, not at all. What about the human traffickers, or the depraved scientists she had signed up to destroy? Petty criminals cashing in on deluded romantics barely counted as criminals, in her mind.

“It might be nice to take a break from some of the heavy stuff,” Clint said, looking carefully at Natasha.

Natasha thought about it. Clint had been shot in two of the past three missions. He deserved a break.

She gave Clint a slight nod. She wouldn’t fight this assignment.

Maria noticed the silent interaction between them, smiled briefly, and put two folders on the table. She slid the first to Natasha.

“You are Nicole Redman, former secretary whose gold-digging turned into true love,” she told Natasha.

Natasha rolled her eyes. Why did her covers always need Clint to be wealthy to be interested? She needed to have a word with the SHIELD department responsible.

Maria slid the second folder to Clint.

“You are Collin Barks. Solidly upper middle class once your construction firm took off, but not as rich as you pretended to be for Nicole at first. You’re rich enough to be interesting to Halverson Watson, but you don’t have the wealth or the contacts to threaten her.”

Clint flicked through his folder with interest. He wasn’t as good as Natasha was at medium term undercover work (no one was), but she was glad to have him at her back all the same.

“Nicole, your greatest desire is to have a wedding inspired by the French royalty,” Maria told him. “Thus the reason to hire Fantasy Weddings.”

“I didn’t think the French had royalty,” Clint said, putting on his best hick accent.

Both Maria and Natasha glared at him. Clint pretending to be dim sometimes had its uses, but it wasn’t appropriate for a briefing.

“Okay, okay. What century?” he asked.

“The 18th. Louis the Sixteenth,” Maria announced.

Natasha raised her eyebrow in surprise. Did they have to choose a King who had come to such an untimely end?

“The monogamous one? Makes sense for a wedding,” Clint said, out loud.

His optimism was going to be the death of her. 

“What’s the rest of my dream?” Natasha asked.

“To be the center of the event. So you should put Sharon and I in the ugliest bridesmaid’s dresses possible.”

Natasha grinned, seeing the bribe for what it was, and appreciating it. It would be tough finding something that looked bad on Maria and Sharon, but she was up to the challenge.

“You contact her tomorrow. Sort out the details of your covers between yourselves.”

Maria waved a hand in dismissal. 

Natasha turned to Clint, and tilted her head. _The usual meeting place?_

Clint grabbed his folder from the table and headed to the door in a couple easy strides. _Of course._

Behind her, Natasha could hear Maria muttering about telepathic assassins. Natasha didn’t bother to hide her smile as she followed Clint.


End file.
